


Kainuu, July 1944 - a Respite

by Ilthit



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Competition, F/M, Finland (Country), Interlude, M/M, Polyamory, Sauna, War, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/pseuds/Ilthit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Howling Commandos find temporary cover at a farm in Finland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kainuu, July 1944 - a Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



> \- Prompted by Ruby, written for Polyshipping Day July 2015!  
> \- I had two different names for this before, but I didn't really like either of them. I'm sorry for the inconvenience.  
> \- I also changed the time period after this fic's first posting on Tumblr.  
> \- I'm Finnish. I refuse to sexualize saunas and I have a right to exoticize my own people.  
> \- Russian troops and bombers hit Kainuu heavily that summer. I hope I haven't offended by setting a cute little ficlet in that period.

Gabe was getting a crash course in Swedish with the aid of a book of phrases, but much of the Commandos’ communication with the locals was had through gestures and onomatopoeia. This wasn’t Turku or Helsinki or even Kajaani, but a nowhere place somewhere not far from the Russian front. Most people spoke only one language, and one which happened to be notoriously difficult to learn. But they knew who Americans were and they liked them better than Russians.

The locals stared at Gabe at first, a compliment he returned with a brilliant smile. Steve watched as, one by one, they all began to grin back. Jim’s eyes lingered on the locals, too, especially a reticent middle-aged woman with eyes like his but skin as fair as Steve’s. Peggy was soon drafted into painting all the women’s lips Red Velvet, and seemed to forget her men even existed. A quick chatter of lilting voices and laughter sounded constantly from their corner of the main room, beyond an enormous stone fireplace.

The Commandos’ bed was made in a barn and their plane hidden under fishnets strung with fir and birch branches. Steve might have asked, through Gabe, why these farmers were such experts at camouflage, but there was that proverb about gift horses. They were fed with dried bread and thick, hot fish soup with potatoes and carrot.

The summer was a cold one, but the straw would keep them warm, and Gabe told him there’d be hot stones wrapped in canvas to warm their feet. And they’d all been invited to sauna.

An older man, wiry, tall and fair with slanted eyes and a bemused little smile – these people were sparing with their smiles – seemed to be in charge. Some of the men were clearly too old to be his sons, while others seemed too young for school. Did masters bathe with servants? Or were they all extended family?

Either way, that evening the long, dark room of the log house by the lake’s edge was filled to capacity with naked men and boys. Conversation remained sparse. A pair of gas lamps hung unlit outside the small window, waiting for nightfall. The temperature was a solid 140° by Steve’s reckoning. A pair of boys were splashing each other with cold water and squealing, while two men talked as they filled hot water into a bowl.

“I’m not entirely sold on this,” Bucky murmured, his wet skin wedged tight against Steve’s side. Steve's other side was equally plastered to a stocky young man with an ugly scar all the way down his thigh, who kept whacking the man next to _him_ with a bouquet of birch branches with leaves still attached. “It’s not like in New York.”

“We don’t want to insult them. Besides, there’s a long cold night ahead of us. We want to get warm while we still can.”

“Brace yourself, guys,” said Gabe. A solid splash of water hit the hot stones and a blast of steam filled the room. It burned in Steve’s nostrils, and he dropped his head down towards his knees. Dugan coughed and swore and then coughed again. One of the young boys on the lower benches reached his hands up towards the hot air.

-

The gas lamps were lit. Steve’s skin still felt pink and tender from the roasting, much like the skinned rabbits currently cooking on a spit over the fire. There was a card game going on in one corner.

The arrival of the women was announced first by their high voices, then the tramping of feet on the porch. They were as pink as Steve felt, but like the men before, in the highest of spirits. Some still had their hair wrapped in towels. Peggy’s was plastered down her head, the towel wrapped around her shoulders, protecting her untucked uniform shirt.

Steve suppressed a smile. As if she’d read his mind, her eyes shot right at him. Bucky, next to him on the bench, leaned back and put his hands behind his head, the traditional Brooklyn pose broadcasting ‘you’re on your own’. Thanks, buddy.

“Evening, ma'am,” he said as she approached, toweling off her hair.

“Don’t be a child, Captain Rogers. This can hardly be the first time you’ve seen a woman without make-up.”

“Peggy, you look as beautiful as ever.” It was true. Her hair was a wet mess and her face bare of paint or pretense. He’d never seen the shape of her skull before, or the folds of her eyelids without their dark shading. Steve had spent time at museums, sketching the light as it fell on copies of ancient statues, tracking the evolution of style through centuries and cultures. Peggy was in that continuum; stripped, now, of the doll-like mask of their own era.

“I thought they’d go easier on the women,” put in Bucky. “Dugan was out of there within ten minutes. Did they dip you into the lake, too?”

“It was quite refreshing, actually. We’ll have to do this again if there’s time before we move on.”

Bucky and Steve shared a glance.

“Ten bucks say I can outlast either of you.”

“Peggy, you don’t have to prove–”

“Twenty.”

“You’re on.”

-

Old Martta was happy to heat up the sauna in the middle of the morning, and despite a confused glance or two, didn’t ask why it was to be mixed-sex. The rest of the women had dispersed to their duties and a gaggle of men had gone off logging at least until lunch. Fresh towels were provided along with a pitcher of home-brewed beer on the porch for cooling off. It was a cloudy, wet day, and mosquitoes chased all three of them inside the dressing room.

Bucky watched as Peggy hung up her jacket and undid her tie. “Look,” said Steve’s boyfriend to Steve’s girlfriend, “I can’t promise I won’t sneak a peek.”

“That’s on you,” said Peggy, and shrugged off her shirt.

Martta had said to check the fire was still going, but not put more than two more logs in, and not to use up any of the hot water, because it was needed for laundry. (Gabe really was a genius at languages.) Steve checked the heater while Peggy stole a shameless half-bucket of hot water. The wood around them smelled like smoke, leaves and sap. Hot water was mixed with cold and splashed liberally between the three of them before they climbed up.

The first splash of water hit the stones and the cloud billowed up and around them. All three fell forward as the droplets stung their backs. “Breathe through your nose,” said Steve, and regretted it instantly as hot air filled his lungs.

Peggy straightened her back and reached her fingers towards the ceiling. Show-off.

They took turns ramping up the heat, Peggy silent and focused, Bucky beyond showing off and with his head  between his legs but his butt firmly planted on the top bench. Steve kept his eye on him, sure to bounce if it looked like they were taking this too far. Outside, the clouds shifted and the shadows of birch leaves fluttered across the porch.

There was a round of machine-gun fire, ringing out across the open surface of the lake.

Steve was first on his feet and out the door. Up the hill, he could see Jim waving his arms at them, signalling. He went back for his pants. Peggy was already half-way into hers. “Report?”

“Unknown hostiles.” As he said it, another round echoed. “North-west. Civilians taking cover. Moving into position.”

“From the frying pan into the fire,” murmured Bucky, strapping on his boots and picking up his gunbelt. “By the way – I won.”

 


End file.
